


True Knight

by moonlittides



Series: Jonsa Smut Week [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Cunnilingus, Emotional Sex, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Half-Sibling Incest, Hurt/Comfort, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Reunions, Scars, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 14:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12866808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlittides/pseuds/moonlittides
Summary: It has been three moons since Jon flew north to fight in the Great War and in his absence Sansa has grown incredibly melancholy. On a stormy winter night, Jon unexpectedly returns from battle with news that the Night King and the dead have fallen and victory is theirs. Elated to have won the Great War and believing they would never see each other again, Jon and Sansa are overwhelmed with emotion and succumb to their true desires.





	True Knight

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for day 3 of Jonsa Smut Week based on the prompt "Anywhere but the Bedroom or First Time." 
> 
> Jon's parentage hasn't been revealed so Jon and Sansa still believe they are half brother and sister.

The howling wind and torrential snowfall batters Winterfell as Sansa lies in bed, with Ghost stretched out beside her and a thick pile of fleece and woolen blankets pulled up to her chin. The log fire is still roaring in the hearth but the gusts blowing through the cracks in the windows and beneath the door of her chambers, make it impossible to get warm. She shivers and Ghost shifts closer to her body. Bringing her hand from beneath the blankets, she strokes his thick white fur and a brief smile flickers across her face, though it’s only moments before her melancholy returns.

Winter is coming. 

Her father spoke those words so often. They are the ancient words of House Stark, yet Sansa never understood what the true winter would entail. The days and nights are endlessly long, the winds blow fiercer and colder and the endless snowfall leaves only death in its stead. Crops are failing, fruit trees are waning, grain supplies are dwindling, cattle are starving and very soon all will be lost. 

Sansa cannot bear to see her home and her people wither and die, but she is powerless to stop it. They all look to her as Lady of Winterfell and she would give anything to provide them with the sanctuary and security they crave for their children and families, but she cannot. Her conscience is burdened constantly with the heavy weight of guilt and helplessness and her is body exhausted from lack of food and rest. But for all her grievances she knows they pale in comparison to those of the brave men further north. 

Three moons have passed since the Wall fell. None thought it to be possible, but it happened nonetheless and only days after its end, the forces of Unsullied and Dothraki traveled north, shortly followed by the Lannister armies and Knights of the Vale. Many hundreds of common men with no experience of warfare accompanied them, having finally accepted that the dead were real and upon them. 

Jon flew north with Daenerys shortly afterwards, vowing that he would destroy the Night King and his armies or die trying. Sansa has heard no word from him since and the torment of not knowing whether he is alive or dead is a much heavier weight to bear than any of the other ills that plague her. 

She had thought the months he was away at Dragonstone were unbearable, but each day he remains north pieces of her heart and soul crumble away. Busying herself with her duties as Lady of Winterfell was distraction enough when he was at Dragonstone, but it is no longer. 

She tries to take what comfort she can from her siblings, but Bran spends most of his days locked in his chambers or in the Godswood, plagued by unending visions and burdened with the weight of knowing and seeing all - a weight that Sansa cannot begin to comprehend nor understand. Arya is restless and filled with pent up rage that she is not fighting by Jon’s side. She is rarely in the castle and on the rare occasions Sansa does see her, she barely speaks. 

In truth, as of late Ghost has been her biggest comfort. He is never far from her side and often just feeling his warmth beside her in bed or feeling him brush against her leg as she walks makes her feel that she is not alone. Though he lays with her in bed every night, neither of them sleep and whilst he howls mournfully for Jon, Sansa weeps softly into her pillow. 

But tonight, Sansa has no tears to cry. She is too tired to cry and her entire body aches with exhaustion. She stares at the flickering candle beside her bed, thoughts of Jon filling her mind and eventually her eyes droop closed as she succumbs to sleep for the first time in over a week. 

Only an hour passes before Sansa is awoke by the sound of Ghost’s yelps. She slowly comes to, her eyes still heavy and feels the weight of Ghost on top of her. 

“Ghost? Ghost, what’s the matter?” Sansa croaks. 

She faintly hears a gruff voice calling her name and when her eyes adjust enough to the darkness a Jon’s face comes into focus. Her heart stops dead in her chest and she fails to breathe as she bolts up in bed and stares in disbelief. 

“J--J--Jon?” she stammers. “Am I dreaming?”

“You’re not dreaming. I’m back, Sans. I’m back.” 

A trembling breathe escapes her as she throws herself out of bed and into his arms so hard that she practically knocks him off his feet. 

His strong arms hold her tight and close, and Sansa buries her face in the crook of his neck. The smell of sweat, blood and snow is soaked into his skin and although it’s repugnant, she does not dare to let go. 

He’s the one to break the embrace as he pulls away and meets her eyes. “He’s dead... The Night King. I dealt him the blow that killed him with my own hand and I watched him disappear into nothing along with the rest of the dead.” 

Sansa shakes her head, tears of relief and joy streaming down her face. Jon smiles the first real smile she can ever recall seeing upon his face. 

“I cannot believe it is truly over.” 

“It is over and we won. The living won and now... Now we get to live.” 

Sansa lets out a small exasperated chuckle of joy and when the shock of Jon’s return and news of victory fades, she gets her first real look at Jon. 

His hair is loose around his shoulders and at least five inches longer than when she last saw him. His face is dark, coloured with dirt and scratches and bruises old and new. 

To anyone else he may look hideously ugly, but to Sansa he is a sight to behold. No dream could prepare her for the emotion of seeing him again. 

Reaching her hand out, she gently traces her fingers over what appears to be a fresh gash on his cheek and asks, “What of your wounds? Have you been injured?” 

“Nothing that some rest and Sam won’t fix.” 

Sansa rolls her eyes at him. Why must he always be so modest? 

“Come and sit. You must be tired.” Sansa gestures to the bed and Jon walks towards the bed, taking Sansa by the hand and leading him with her. 

Ghost having missed Jon undoubtedly as much as Sansa incessantly nudges at Jon’s hand and he obliges, scratching Ghost’s head. But his eyes never leave Sansa. 

“Who else knows of your arrival? Pod must know, he--”

“He was stood guard outside your chambers. I saw no one but him and I told him he was not to utter a word of my return to anyone. The hour is too late and I didn’t want to be responsible for a raucous. They will know of our victory on the morrow, but for a short while I wanted to simply be.” 

Sansa nods understandingly. “And what of Daenerys? Is she well?” 

“Yes. She flew her dragons south back to Dragonstone.” 

Sansa wants to ask more questions but senses that Jon doesn’t wish to speak of it, so she stays silent knowing that peace is something he would have had precious little of over the last three months. He clasps her hand in his, holding it tight and the two remain together in harmonious quiet for a while with Ghost at their feet, snoring lightly, finally able to sleep due to Jon’s return. 

“How are Arya and Bran?” Jon asks, breaking the silence. 

“They’re well,” she says, though in truth she doesn’t know how they are. 

“I will go to see them at first light. They should know of my return before anyone else and I should like to see them again.”

“I will come with you as soon as you would like to go.” 

“Thank you, Sansa.” 

They return to silence for a couple of minutes until Jon says, “I thought of you.”

Sansa looks to him to find his dark eyes fixed on her. “I thought of you often.” 

“And I you.” 

“In the thick of battle I thought of all I had to fight for. Winterfell, Bran, Arya, you. There were moments I believed I would die and in those moments it was those thoughts that gave me the strength to go on fighting.” 

Sansa feels the lump rise in her throat at his words. 

“But I did not fear death itself. What I feared is that I may have taken my leave of this world without looking upon your face one last time.” His hand reaches out and he sweeps her hair behind her ear, his hand settling against her skin. 

Sansa inhales deeply, her eyes drifting shut, the feel of his skin on hers causing every ounce of tension in her body to come undone and all of her cares to float away. 

“I couldn’t bear the thought of it. I couldn’t.” 

Tears fall from Sansa’s eyes. “If you should have died I would have died with you,” she says. 

Anguish twists Jon’s features. “Do not say that.” 

“It’s true. I know I shouldn’t think on it, but I couldn’t help it. I feared that I may never see you again.” Sansa begins crying, the emotions of being separated from him for so long and thinking he may be dead exploding out of her. “I thought you may be dead and I could not bear it. I couldn’t. I couldn’t,” she sobs. 

Jon leans into her with urgency, his head resting upon hers, his hands cradling her face. “You no longer have to fear that. I’m here. I’m with you. I’m here.” 

Sansa opens her eyes to look at him and reaches out for his face, needing to reassure herself that he’s truly here with her. 

“I missed you so much,” she breathes. 

“And I you. I vow that as long as I walk this earth I will never leave your side unless you will it.” 

Sansa sobs harder. “I will never will that.” 

Jon beams at her, unadulterated joy reflected in his eyes and their lips come together in a brief, feather like kiss. Though they have never kissed on the lips before it feels so natural that neither of them think on leaning in to kiss again. It’s as brief as the first since both of them still uncertain and they search each others’ eyes anxiously. 

When they kiss a third time, Sansa lets her eyes fall shut and get lost in him. With his hands still on her face, Sansa tilts her head to the side and though she is inexperienced, her mouth seems to instinctively move to collide with Jon’s at the right time. 

It’s slow and careful, but as they sink into it, Sansa winds her hand into Jon’s damp curls and dares to place her tongue in his mouth. She expects him to recoil and pull away in disgust, but instead he parts his mouth to allow her easier access before gently massaging his tongue against hers. 

The sensation is strange, but enticing and Sansa wants more. Her kiss grows more aggressive as her hands reach for his collar to bring him closer. His coarse beard scratches against her skin, but she finds she even likes that. 

The emotions that are flowing through her body are alien, but she cannot bring herself to think on them, all she wants to do is act on them. Her hands slide down the sides of his neck and slip down the v of his open tunic, her breathing heavy, but suddenly Jon pulls away. 

Sansa frowns at him in bewilderment. “Jon, what is it?” 

“I... We shouldn’t be doing this. I was wrong to-- It’s my duty to show you the respect and honor you deserve. I was weak and foolish. I’m sorry.” 

Sansa shakes her head and grabs his chin, turning his face to look at her. “Do not apologise. You did nothing wrong.” She kisses his cheek tenderly. “How can it be wrong to act upon what is true in our hearts?” 

Sansa sees the corner of Jon’s mouth turn up to form a slight smile, but it disappears as quickly as it appears. “Of the many lessons I’ve learned, one of them is that to act upon what our heart desires can often be our undoing.” 

“That may be true, but it is not true of tonight. Tonight belongs to us. You and I. Too long have we denied ourselves.”

“You know my heart, is that not enough?” 

“But I don’t know. Not truly.” 

“Do you not know you are all that my heart desires? Do you not know I love you more fiercely than I thought it possible to love another?”

To hear the words from Jon’s lips at last causes Sansa’s heart to somersault with joy in her chest.

With her intense sapphire eyes on him, Sansa says, “If you love me so then show me.” 

Jon’s breathing grows shallow and Sansa sees him gulp. 

“Make love to me, Jon. You speak of honor and duty, now I ask you to fulfill it. Make love to me.” 

Jon stares at Sansa, doubt in his eyes but when Sansa leans into him, he loses all resolve and melts into her, kissing her so passionately that they collapse onto the bed. 

With Jon’s body on top of hers, Sansa winds her legs around him and clumsily pulls at his clothing in a desperate attempt to shed him of it. It does not matter that he is filthy and likely hasn’t washed in weeks, all that matters is that she can feel him against her, flesh on flesh. 

The coldness that plagued her earlier has completely disappeared and Sansa feels she is on fire as Jon scatters moist kisses across her face, neck and collarbones. 

She has never had sex before, at least not by choice, but with Jon it comes naturally. It’s almost as though they were born to be together in this way. Sansa reaches for the hem of her night dress and pulls it over her head. 

With her naked flesh exposed, she seizes up and immediately becomes riddled with shame and embarrassment. She was so lost in Jon that she’d forgotten about the ugly scars left behind by Ramsay Bolton’s cruelty. 

“Sansa?” Jon asks sensing the sudden change in her. 

She reaches for her night dress and attempts to cover her stomach. “I’m--I’m sorry. I-- They’re ugly.” 

Jon seems to finally understand as sympathy fills his eyes. “Nothing about you could possibly be ugly.” 

Sansa avoids Jon’s eyes and blinks back the tears that threaten to spill over. 

“Do not feel shame for what that monster did to you. It is not your fault. It was never your fault. Know that you don’t have to do anything you do not wish to do,” Jon says starting to move from her.

“No, no.” Sansa reaches for Jon and brings him back to her. “Don’t.” 

“I have my own scars, do not forget.” 

In truth, Sansa had been so preoccupied by her own insecurities she had forgot. Getting to his knees Jon pulls his tunic off and discards it on the floor. Sansa has seen Jon’s scars before, but only a mere glimpse from a distance. Upon seeing them, she can’t help the horror that comes upon her face. 

Jon doesn’t speak and after a few moments, Sansa sits up and reaches out, her fingertips lightly tracing over the jagged, protruding scars. The emotion overwhelms Sansa as she thinks of the knives plunging deep into Jon’s flesh. How must he have felt in that moment? She cannot bear it. 

With a cry she bends down and kisses each scar tenderly. Jon winds his fingers into her hair and brings her face to his. Tears are flowing down his cheeks and it is the first time Sansa has seen Jon display such emotion. 

He parts his lips, lets out a breath and stares at Sansa in awe and adoration before leaning her down on the bed, her head rested on the pillows. 

“May I?” Jon asks.

Sansa stares deep into Jon’s eyes and tells herself she has nothing to be afraid of. This is Jon, he will not shun her or look upon her with disgust for seeing the scars she bears. 

She nods and Jon proceeds to remove the nightdress that covers her naked body from her. Anxiously, Sansa watches Jon’s eyes as they wander across her body drinking her in and she dreads what she will see reflected in his eyes when he looks at her. 

But when he finally meets her gaze she sees only acceptance and love. There is so much love. So much that it causes Sansa to shiver from the intensity of it. With a smile on his lips, he kisses her tenderly, his bare chest pressed against her breasts. 

As he moves his mouth further down her body, she feels her heart race in her chest with anticipation. When his tongue flicks across her erect nipple she is surprised by how incredible it feels and she asks him to continue. He is more than happy to oblige and ravishes her breasts with attention, licking, sucking, nibbling and massaging them for countless minutes. He carefully and tenderly kisses each of her scars, just as she did his, and she cannot help but cry. To be accepted so wholly by another is an overwhelming emotion Sansa cannot begin to describe. 

With every touch of his mouth, hands and body, Sansa feels her center pulsate with a ferocious need. Jon continuously searches for her gaze as though seeking permission to continue and each time he does Sansa gives him an enthusiastic nod, encouraging him to travel further south. 

As he does, a million thoughts start to whizz around Sansa’s head. She’s unbelievably nervous, more so than she has ever been and when Jon places his first kiss at her damp center she jerks in surprise. Her first instinct is that he shouldn’t be kissing her there, but when he does it again she lets her eyes drift closed and realises how amazing it feels. 

Jon lifts his head and she sits up to look him directly in the eyes. Confidently and self-assured she tells him, “I want you to. I’m yours, Jon Snow. I’m yours.” 

She plants one final kiss on his lips before falling back into the mattress. Jon lightly pushes her legs apart and then his mouth is on her. Sansa’s head spins from the overload of new sensations. The combination of his hot breath, slick tongue and beard causes her to throb and involuntarily gyrate and thrust her hips seeking more. 

Do all men do this to their wives? she wonders. Do they all bestow their ladies with such a heavenly gift? 

Any reservations or embarrassments Sansa may have had evaporate as she gets lost in the pleasure that’s taking her over. Jon’s tongue probes her folds, firmly traces patterns against her nub and slides in and out of her entrance. He doesn’t seem to follow the same routine and each time his mouth hits a new spot it catches her by surprise and brings her closer to the edge. 

Though she has never experienced a man’s mouth on her in this way before, she finds herself instructing Jon on where to be and when, and she winds her fingers in his long curls, pressing his head into her further. Jon is practically drowning in her - not that he minds - but Sansa doesn’t notice as she gets lost in the building pleasure. 

She grinds against Jon’s mouth with vigor and feels an tingly warmth spreading across her body accompanied with an unbearable but intoxicating pressure deep in her belly. Without warning an explosion erupts at Sansa’s core, causing her to lose complete control of her mind and body. She writhes on the bed and covers her mouth with her own hand to prevent the entirety of Winterfell from hearing her screams as Jon holds her hips and continues to ravish her with his mouth until she can take no more. 

Jon crawls up the bed and lays down beside her. Sansa, still high on her orgasm giggles uncontrollably and rolls onto her front, half of her body on top of Jon. 

“What in seven hells was that?” she asks through her laughter. “That was... Can you do that again?” 

Jon chuckles and kisses her nose. “To see you as I did just now, I will do anything.” 

Sansa laughs again and then climbs on top of him. She unties his pants and slides them down his ankles. “I want to feel you inside me,” she whispers in his ear. 

Jon is rearing to go, his cock solid as wood. He sits up and winds his hands around Sansa’s back. “Are you sure?” he asks. 

“I’m sure.” 

With that Jon slides inside Sansa and nothing could have prepared her for how incredible it would feel. Every piece of her lost in his absence is returned all at once and she kisses him desperately, overcome with emotion once more. 

Sansa has only ever had one other man inside her and there is no comparison. In Jon she has found the other half of her being, one who loves her unreservedly and worships her mind, body and soul. He shows her only gentleness, respect and love, all which were lost on Ramsay. 

As Jon begins to slide in and out of her, she rests her chin on his shoulder, her hands clinging at his back and reminds herself once more that this is not a dream. 

Their bodies are already sticky with sweat and Jon’s flesh is covered in dirt, but it does not stop Sansa spreading kisses across his shoulders and neck as he makes love to her slowly and tenderly. 

“Oh, Jon,” she cries, caressing his cheek and gazing upon his face. “I thought I had lost you. I thought I would never see you again. Never leave me again. Don’t go. Don’t go.” 

“Never,” Jon breathes. 

The two remain clutched in each one another’s embrace, kissing sensually and moving rhythmically. Though the sensations Sansa is feeling are different than before, they are more intense and Sansa feels no embarrassment in grinding harder and faster as her desire expands. 

Even as Jon is filling her and connected with her in the most profound way, she still craves him, needs him. It’s an inexplicable emotion that she cannot understand and it’s why even as he’s against her, flesh against flesh, heartbeat to heartbeat, she’s still pulling him closer and kissing him deeply. 

It’s Jon’s turn to get what he wants as he asks, “Can we move?” 

Sansa nods and Jon takes her up into his arms and lies her back on the bed. The loss of contact makes Sansa squirm with impatience, but Jon is soon on top of her and filling her once more. 

Licking between her breasts, the change of position seems to give Jon a burst of energy and he moves faster. 

“Is this okay?” he asks. 

“Yes,” Sansa replies, biting her lip.

Her hands fall to his ass and she encourages him to thrust deeper. Low grunts begin to come from Jon and it thrills Sansa because she can sense he’s close. 

She loathed the sounds of Ramsay’s moans and groans and the second his seed spilled into her she would wish herself dead. 

But in this moment, Jon is Jon. He is the man she loves and she wants nothing more than to see him come undone knowing she is the one that has done it to him. 

Jon’s head falls on hers and his eyes fall closed as his rhythm grows erratic and with each thrust, ripples of electrifying pleasure spread across Sansa’s body. 

Jon’s hands grasp aggressively at the pillow beside him as he reaches his peak and his relentless pounding causes Sansa to unexpectedly follow suit. As Jon’s legs stiffen and his seed fills her, he gasps her name over and over. It’s music to Sansa’s ears and she bites on his shoulder as a second more powerful orgasm hits her. This one is deeper, more intense and prolonged and unlike the first where she could no longer bear Jon to touch her, she begs him to remain inside her. 

He obliges and Sansa pushes Jon back forcefully, straddling him and instantly riding him hard and fast. Jon stares up at her in shock and awe, as she moves against him in exactly the way she wants. Being on top gives Sansa sole control and with each thrust, Jon’s cock hits the deepest part of her until she’s convulsing once again. This time, there is no stopping the sounds that come from Sansa and though Jon tries to stifle the sounds, her inhuman shrieks, moans and screams seem to echo around the castle. 

When at last Sansa is spent, she collapses forward into Jon’s arms. She can feel how hard his heart is beating and it makes her feel completely and utterly alive. She has never felt this closeness with any other human before, never thought it possible. It is too much for her to comprehend and her tears fall onto Jon’s chest before she can stop them. 

“Sansa, what’s wrong?” Jon asks, concern etched on his brow. “Did I hurt you?” 

“No, no, it’s not that. I-- I never thought.. After everything that has happened, I never thought I would ever love anyone, lest have that love returned.”

“Nor I.” 

“I didn’t think I could be shown such kindness, such gentleness. In fact, I think I stopped believing it existed.”

“What about the stories you love so much as a girl? Did you stop believing in those?” 

“I did. I thought I did. Until now. Until this night I did not believe there to be any heroes or dashing knights. But I was wrong. You are mine. You are all I wished for as a girl, but grew to believe was a childish fantasy.” 

“And you are all I could ever hope to have. The only woman I ever wish to be with.” 

“Oh, Jon, I wish this night would never end.”

Jon strokes her cheek tenderly. “As you said this night is ours, it belongs to us. For now at least, nothing else matters.” 

Sansa nods. “I love you, Jon. I haven’t plainly said it to you and I should have, because it is true. I wanted you to know that.”

“Aye, I know that.” 

Sansa peers over to the window and sighs. “Dawn will break in a couple of hours and this evening shall be over. What will we do, Jon?”

“I do not know what will be of tomorrow nor the days that follow, all I know is that we are here now, together. That is what is important.” 

Sansa nods, but cannot shift the somber expression from her face. 

“Just know that I meant what I said. I will never leave you again. I promise.” 

“Do not make promises you cannot keep,” Sansa says coldly, getting up and walking across the room to the fire. 

Jon follows her. “You’re right, I shouldn’t make promises I can’t keep. But there are some promises I know with certainty that I can keep.” 

Sansa turns from the fire to face him. “What are they?” 

He takes her hand in his. “That for as long as I have breath in my body I will fight to be near you and that so long as I am living my heart will be completely and utterly yours.” 

Sansa cannot help but smile. 

“I know that the days to come won’t be easy, but we have already won the real battle. The dead are gone. Whatever we have to do next to rebuild the world and ourselves... we will do it.” 

“We will,” Sansa agrees. 

Jon pulls on her hand until she’s against him. “Did you just agree with me?” 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

Jon grins and then kisses her softly. 

“We still have a few hours until dawn.” 

“Then we should make the best of it.” 

“What did you have in mind, your Grace?” Sansa asks, an excited smile on her face. 

“Lie down and you shall find out,” Jon replies, his smoldering gaze causing her to go weak at the knees. 

Sansa obliges and lies on the woollen rug at the foot of the hearth. Jon gets between her legs and with a seductive smile on his face, he proceeds to swipe his tongue through Sansa’s glistening folds. 

“Oh, Gods, what did I do to deserve you, Jon Snow?” 

With that Sansa throws her head back, closes her eyes and lets Jon transport her to another world. Sansa may have stopped believing in the tales she loved so much as a girl, but tonight she believes once more, for Jon is her knight. A true knight that has not only reignited the hopes and dreams that were so cruelly torn away from her as a girl, but has rescued her soul and made her heart complete.


End file.
